


Didn't

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-02
Updated: 2005-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes/Angel post demon-battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Improv: Blue Fall Flow Rave

For Kassie, who always says I don't contract enough. *g* And for Lar, goddess of betas.

===== 

Seeing him at the door didn't gladden my heart at all. Fighting by his side wasn't the least bit of a thrill. Hearing that affectionately sarcastic tone in his voice, it didn't bring a shiver of delight to my soul. It didn't make me want to become even more pedantic and tedious just to tease him. 

In that sudden, *ohmygodisitover* aftermath of battle, checking to see if the monsters were dead, that we were unharmed... I didn't smile at him like the newly-risen sun. 

Well, perhaps I did get a little carried away. I may have smirked, a little. But I covered it well enough, buried it with scowl and clenched jaw. Turned and fell instead into safe routine - into the ritual of clean-the-glasses. Sullenly asked what he was doing here. Thought of all the blue-funks he'd put me through, restored the perfect illusion of anger and bitterness. 

It's not like I asked him to come any closer. Not as though I wanted him to get a soft damp washcloth and clean the demonic gloop that splattered my shirt, that flowed down half my face. Not as if I took the slightest fraction of pleasure in having him gently wipe my cheek clean. Because I didn't. 

And having him kneel beside my chair, so close, beautiful eyes and perfect grace and foolishly pomaded hair - it didn't do a thing for me, really. I wasn't overwhelmed by his presence and charisma, I didn't feel that old familar burn of attraction rising again. I didn't hear my libido raving at me (just jump the man already). 

Really, nothing happened at all. Angel doesn't mean a thing to me.


End file.
